


tomorrow, we'll stand together

by prouvaire (winchesters)



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Friendship, M/M, pre-slash i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-18 17:22:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1436533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winchesters/pseuds/prouvaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jack gets kicked out of school (and his foster home), David takes him in. That's what friends are for, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

 

 

“I’m dropping out of school.”

Jack says it with an air of forced causality, leaning against the wrought iron fence outside Randolph Hearst High School. An unlit cigarette dangles between his fingers–he doesn’t really ever smoke them, Davey has noticed, just carries them around and sometimes puts them between his lips like he’s going to light up any minute. He never does, and ends up tossing them to the gutter when they wear out.

“You’re _what_?” It sounds like something a mother would say, but Davey’s always been the maternal figure in the group.

Jack sighs and rolls the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger.

“Okay, they’re kicking me out. But I wanted to go anyways.”

Davey stifles a groan.

“Does anyone else know? Any of the other boys?”

He’s included Katherine in that statement, even though she’s not technically ‘one of them’–a rich girl from the Upper East Side, the daughter of a newspaper mogul with properties all over the city.

“No. I wanted you to be the first person to find out.” He puts a gentle hand on Davey’s shoulder and squeezes. Davey’s stomach does a weird somersault at that. Jack can be brusque and loud and crass, but then he does thesetender, caring things and it’s like nothing else even matters.

“Jesus, Jack. What are you gonna do?”

Jack gives a humorless laugh, shoves his hands deep into his pockets.

“I have no fuckin’ clue. The Richardsons will kick me to the curb once they find out, that’s for sure. I’m almost eighteen anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Oh.”

Jack’s often-precarious living situation is a subject that they generally avoid talking about. Jack has never shared the circumstances of his unfortunate life in the foster care system, and Davy’s never asked.

“If you want, you can come stay at mine for a few days. I’m sure my folks would be happy to have you.”

Jack smiles, a genuine smile that is belied by the fear and sadness in his eyes. He puts a gentle hand on Davey’s shoulder and squeezes. Davey’s stomach does a weird somersault at that. Jack can be brusque and loud and crass, but then he does something tender and gentle (and if when Jack touches him, it turns Davy’s heart into pure saccharine…well, that’s something that Jack never needs to know).

“Thanks,” he says, and then flips his ruined cigarette into the gutter. “Well, I’d better get my sorry ass home. See ya round, Davey.”

Davey watches him slump off, shoulders stooped. Jack Kelly isn’t often a pathetic figure­­­–despite his constant state of poverty, he rarely despairs and carries himself with the confidence of a swaggering senator’s son–but he looks downright miserable now, his figure small against the growing dusk.

 

 

 

Davey is restless and distracted all evening and barely touches his meatloaf, prompting a flurry of worried queries from his mother and sisters.

“Nothing’s the matter,” Davey assures them. “Just a little worried about a friend, that’s all.”

Les leans across the table, nearly upsetting his glass of milk.

“Is it Jack? Is Jack okay?”

Davey stifles a laugh. Sometimes he wonders if his little brother would swap him for the famous Jack Kelly given half a chance.

“Jack’s fine,” he lies. “Really, it’s nothing.”

But it’s not nothing, and Davey’s never been a very good liar when it comes to deceiving himself.  He tosses and turns all night, thinking about his idiot best friend. He’s not really _that_ surprised–Jack Kelly is rarely out of trouble, and seems to spend more time in detention than in class. It’s always been a matter of time until Principal Wiesel decided that Randolph Hearst High had had their fill of Jack Kelly. Still, Davey feels awful. Jack’s a foster kid who had never known a real home. At the brink of aging out of the system, he’s been booted out of school without a GED to his name.

Davey eventually falls into a restless slumber, only to be jerked from sleep what feels like seconds after laying his head on the pillow by someone knocking gently on his window. A shadowy figure is crouched on the fire escape, silhouetted against the green glow of the streetlamps outside. Davey unlocks his window and throws it open, allowing a very rumpled Jack Kelly to tumble inside, sporting a magnificent black eye. 

"Christ!" Davey jumps back, nearly tripping over the pile of textbooks and dirty laundry he's dumped onto the floor. He extends a hand to Jack, helps him up. "What the hell happened to  _you_?" 

Jack goes for a cocky grin, but the side of his mouth wavers and Davey can see in the pale streetlight that his eyes are full of tears. And then Jack crumples towards him, collapsing against Davey's chest, his entire body shaking with sobs. It's obvious that he's been holding back for a long time–Davey wonders how long Jack's been hiding this, how many smirks and cheeky grins have passed between them while his best friend has been falling apart. 

Davey slides to the thin carpet, his arms so tight around Jack he doesn't think he'll ever let go. Jack is trembling, his shoulders shaking, and when he finally pulls away his tears have left a damp patch on Davey's shirt. Davey is still stroking his hair absently, carding his fingers through Jack's tangled locks. 

He doesn't need to say anything, just nods his head towards the narrow twin bed that's been pushed against the wall. Jack, sniffing, slowly strips down to his boxers. They crawl into bed and lie there in the dark, staring at the ceiling. Lord knows Davey's spent enough nights thinking about how something like this might end...but not tonight. Tonight it's just him and his shattered, terrified best friend. 

"What am I gonna do?" Jack asks, and Davey's not sure if he's asking him or the universe so he just turns over to look at Jack's profile against the yellow light outside. 

"I don't know. But we'll figure it out tomorrow–together." 

 


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter for you! Hope that you enjoy, and I'm sorry that it's super short. I'm going to try and keep this story on the short side, maybe 3 or 4 chapters. Anyway, review/comment/kudos! Your support means so much. :

They settle into a rhythm: Davey goes to school, Jack skulks around the city doing God-knows-what, at night Jack comes over for dinner and more often then not ends up in Davey's bed. Sometimes they wake up tangled together, skin against skin. Those mornings, Davey rushes to the bathroom, red-faced, to stand underneath a cold shower. 

The city gets colder, winter is coming. After school Davey's friends go to the ice rink in Central Park. Davey goes home to sit on the fire escape with Jack and watch the city warp into a map of lights against the slate-grey sky. 

"You're a good friend," Jack says, twirling a cigarette between his fingers. "Ya know that, Davey?" 

Davey just laughs, puts his chin against his folded hands. 

"It's nothing. Really. My parents don't mind, they love you." 

Jack shifts, gives a little cough that's not induced by the cold or the tobacco between his lips. 

"I'm lookin' for work," he says. "Gainful employment, all that shit. Maybe get a place of my own. Maybe..." He trails off, leaving the unfinished sentence hanging like frost between them. 

"Maybe what?" Davey prods, and he can't let Jack know how much he hates waking up alone. How used to having another body next to him he's become. 

"Maybe gettin' outta this city." 

And the words hit Davey like bricks, he swears he can feel his blood run cold. 

"You talking about Brooklyn?" 

He tries to keep his tone even, flat, tries to hide the fact that his stomach is doing somersaults and his heart is sinking like the goddamned Titanic. 

"Nah," Jack says, and he won't look at Davey. "Somewhere far away. Somewhere hot and sunny and clean and–" 

And then Davey leans over and kisses him, presses his mouth against Jack's lips, swallows the words between them. He feels Jack lean into him, and then pulls back a second later, eyes wide. Jack is practically gaping at him. 

"Christ, Davey, what did ya do that for?" 

And Davey is shaking his head because oh God he just kissed his best friend––the guy who he's been sharing a bed with for the past two weeks--and he's pretty sure that Jack is never gonna talk to him again and he's blushing like mad but he can't help it. 

"I--I gotta go," Jack says, and then goes clambering down the fire escape and disappearing into the shadows between the streetlights. 

"Fuck," Davey mutters, burying his face in his hands. "What the hell was I thinking?"

But he was thinking about Jack when he kissed him, and that's all he can think about now--Jack, stupid brave Jack falling to pieces in his arms, Jack sleeping next to him with their arms and legs tangled together. 

And now all Davey can do is groan and wonder aloud:

"What the hell am I gonna do?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack skips town. Davey worries, as he is wont to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all SO MUCH for the lovely comments you have left on the last chapter! It really means to the world to me. 
> 
> True story: there is a guy who sells scarves across the street from the public library on 5th Ave. I have two of those scarves and they are wonderful. If you ever find yourself in that neighborhood, buy a scarf (they're usually five bucks but you can always haggle). 
> 
> Please comment/review/send a carrier pigeon letting me know what you think of this installment! :)

Days pass. Then a week. Then two. Davey begins to wonder if Jack has really hopped a bus or a train somewhere distant and sunny––like California, or maybe Mexico. He can't sleep, just tosses and turns all night. He goes to bed thinking of Jack and wakes up with that stupid smug face burned into his brain. 

No one seems to know where Jack Kelly has run off to––Race says Columbia, to smuggle drugs. Mush says Hollywood, to be a movie star. Morris Delancey says,

"Jack Kelly? Yeah, that fucker's still around here somewhere. And when I find him, I'm gonna bust his ass." 

Crutchie, Jack's oldest (though certainly not wisest) friend, is equally concerned. 

"I think he's in trouble," Crutchie tells Davey one day. They're sitting on the steps outside the public library, watching the steady stream of pedestrians and traffic on 5th Avenue. Across the street, a vendor pedals scarves the color of springtime. 

"How do you mean?" 

Crutchie fiddles with the sleeves of his too-long sweater. He won't look at Davey. 

"Ya know," he taps the side of his head. "Up here." 

Davey sighs. He knows Jack, knows that the boy gets lost inside his own head. Not day-dreamy like Les, but like a cornered animal who retreats to the dark recesses of the only place they feel safe. 

"Any idea where he is?" 

Crutchie shakes his head. "Nope. Wish I did. I miss that dumb bastard like hell." 

 

The days get shorter, colder. Davey bums cigarettes from the packs his dad keeps hidden in the sock drawer, sits out on the fire escape with the unlit Camels between his lips. He tells himself not to think about boys whose kisses taste like cheap cigarettes. He wonders if Jack is holed up across the river, in Brooklyn. Maybe with Spot Conlon, a smarmy miscreant of legendary proportions. Imagining Jack's mouth on someone else, his hands on someone else...Jesus, it's enough to drive a guy half crazy. 

Davey watches Manhattan bloom in the dusk, a many-petaled night flower blooming open under the violet sky. The forecast calls for snow. 

"Can I bum a smoke?" 

Davey jumps backwards, startled, his heart pounding in his throat. God, he'd know that voice anywhere. 

Jack Kelly appears like a ghost from the gloom at the foot of the fire escape, clambers gracefully up to stand next to Davey. 

"Long time no see," he says, that shit-eating grin on his face. Davey can't decide whether he wants to punch him in the teeth or kiss him. He settles for slugging Jack in the shoulder as hard as he can--it's not very hard, and Jack laughs at his pathetic swing--and then grabbing his collar and hauling him in for a kiss, a tangle of tongues and teeth. 

"Don't ever," Davey pants when they pull apart, his fingers still tight in Jack's collar. "Leave me like that again." 

Jack presses his forehead to Davey's, their frozen breath hanging in the air between them. 

"Never," he says quietly. "I promise." 

And suddenly, it starts to snow.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A disgustingly sweet ending, because I'm in one of ~those moods~ and also the Newsies reunited last night and it was wonderful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this happened. Holler at me if you enjoyed it/didn't enjoy it...any review is a good review. ;)

Jack leans out the window, the unlit cigarette between his teeth––he still doesn't smoke them. Good thing, too, Davey thinks. Everyone's dying, but sometimes Jack Kelly seems a little too eager to get there, for a boy so full of life. It's freezing, the winter sky clear. No snow tonight. A million lights glitter against the jagged midtown skyline, and Jack regards them with his eyes full of something like nostalgia. 

"Remember the first time we met?" He asks, turning back from the window. Davey snorts.

"Yeah. I thought you were a real smart-ass. Not much has changed on that front." 

Jack grins, drops the cigarette out onto the fire escape so he can take both of Davey's hands in his callused ones. 

"I thought you were a book-smart nerd," he says. "Not much has changed on that front, either." 

He leans in close, ghosts his lips against Davey's. Jack smells like coffee and cigarettes and winter. 

"I'm so glad I found you," Davey murmurs before he can stop himself. His hands go to the back of Jack's neck, fingers linking. He half-expects Jack to pull aways––he's never liked any of that gooey romance stuff––but the other boy just kisses him hard on the mouth. 

When he pulls aways, he strokes a thumb across Davey's lower lip.

"You know somethin'? I'm damn glad I found you too." 

Davey's heart fills with something warm, like the scent of pine needles and peppermint outside the Dunkin Donuts on Fifth when they put out the tiny Christmas trees for the holidays. 

"You gonna stick around for the holidays?" He would cross his fingers if they weren't linked together behind Jack's neck. 

Jack kisses him again, then rests his forehead against Davey's.

"Baby," he says––and Davey's surprised, because Jack hates being called anything mushy like that––"I'll stick around forever if you want me to." 

Davey slides his hand into Jack's, and they watch the city lights against the jewelry box of a winter night. 

"Of course I want you," says Davey. "How could I not?" 

He leans his head against Jack's shoulder, and when the other boy puts his arm around him, it feels like home.


End file.
